Pop the Balloon

I told God I'm coming
to your country.
I'm going to eat up your cities,
your homes, you know
I've got a stomach full it's not
a chip on my shoulder.
I've got this growl in my tummy
and I'm gonna stop it today
I eat too much
I drink too much
I want too much
Too much

Suck it up...

--Dave Matthews

Ich bin ein TV Glotzer

I honestly have no idea what on earth possessed Heidi and Co. to decide she should appear naked on this promo poster. All I can say is: please, God, don't make Tim Gunn do the same.

Who's with me on watching?

Bossy Pants

WATCH IT:

If you're watching Breaking Bad, then you don't need to read this. If you're not, then what on earth is wrong with you? Go buy yourself the first three seasons and get started right now. This show is so good, it begs, pleads, and hair pulls the question: why, oh why, is Hollywood even in existence anymore?

Bryan Cranston's Walter White is a man about as given up as it gets: crag-faced, slump-shouldered, ineffectual in his efforts to wrest some interest out of his bored-to-tears high school chemistry students, and about to become a father for the second time at the age of 50. Unplanned, naturally. But Walter wasn't always so beaten down, and watching him morph from Emasculated American Male into the MacGyver of Methamphetamine is about as fun as it gets. The supporting cast is pretty great, too, including Walt's sidekick in crime, Jesse, who in spite of his hapless Generation Yo-ster status, is the show's only hook upon which it can hang any kind of moral hat.

What's even more brilliant, is that the producers decided to shoot it all right here in Albuquerque, a city that wears its potential for progress like a pair of designer sunglasses while at the same time supporting an underbelly of neighborhoods so deeply scarred and barrio-ed, they make East L.A. look like Boca Raton.

Perfect.

LISTEN TO IT:

Once upon a time, the music industry term, "All killer, no filler," was used to describe an album in which each and every song was written, crafted, and recorded with the intent of being a hit single. Unlike today, when an album (CD, whatever) is mostly just a compilation of lame-ass tunes designed to support one or two downloadable songs targeted for the Top 40. Most people in the music business consider the album a dinosaur.

The Foo Fighters are one of the exceptions, and so is their latest album, Wasting Light. It's all pretty much killer, but even if you don't literally and figuratively buy into the album concept, at least do yourself a huge favor and download these two songs:

"White Limo," a spastic retro punk/metal homage to the idea that a threesome between Motörhead, Ministry, and the Beastie Boys would be, like, the best idea ever; and the heart-wrenching, "These Days," which proves that it is possible to write a rock anthem without sounding like a douche.

READ IT:

Here, I'm at a loss. Unless one or more of you can save me from myself, I'm about to plunge deep into the heart of War and Peace. Any recommendations?

Haiku Monday: SWEAT

Heat blazes, brow pricks.

Ineffectual swipe. Ow!
Sunscreen burn blinds eyes.

* * *

Buzz was the winner of last week's Haiku Monday, so he got to choose this week's theme. Whaddya bet half the haikus are about sex. Or yard work. To go see, drop by his place and compete if you wanna.

Space Cadet

I was watching the news tonight and caught a special interest piece on the impending opening of Spaceport America, which is located here in New Mexico just outside Las Cruces. According to the website, Spaceport's mission is to, "Develop and operate the world's first purpose-built commercial spaceport to attract the future space industry, deliver prosperity through public and private cooperation, and inspire the next generation."

I'm not sure what all that means, including if and when the average Joe with a not-so-average bank account can buy him or herself a flight into outer space.

Which leads me to wonder just how many people, if given the means and the opportunity, would take a trip beyond our great blue and into the void. Would you?

1. Hell yes. I'm all about adventure and fun, damn the safety and the money.

2. Hell no. I get scared enough riding on the bus.

3. Probably not. I just don't see the point of paying all that money to be shot off into a great big bunch of black nothing. Then again, if they were serving margaritas . . .

Haiku Mondays: HUNTER/HUNTED WINNER

Please excuse this week's El Lamo-o Haiku Contest assessment.

I'm exhausted, y'all.

I've been sleeping just fine but working hard (and working out) and the icing on the cake of be-all-that-you-can-be was this morning's near vomit-inducing workout with my trainer. I guess she thinks I'm stronger and fitter than I am, and I guess I'm too embarrassed to relieve her of that notion. So the end result is the kind of stalemate that keeps me swallowing back hurl and spending the rest of my Tuesdays wishing for the succor of a box of donuts and my blankie.

But, nooooooooooooo. I'm now up to my eyeballs in work work. But before I go slug down a Red Bull and put on my game face, here's my short but sweet run down of the runner's up and winner's of this week's contest.

Being as I'm a huge fan of Hunter S. Thompson (RIP), I was immediately attracted to Czar's nifty ode to the inimitable Dr. G:

Whiskey/drug-fueled screeds
Skewer Vegas, politics:
"Ah, Dr. Thompson."

Then Troll chimed in with a haiku that confused me at first, but once the fog cleared, I laughed my ass off:

The Smug Zoology Student's Last Words. Unless, you count "Aaaarghhhhhh" as a word.

Let go! The book says
that you only hunt at night.
Illiterate Beast!

Troll's brilliant with titles, too.

Uncle must have gifted Aunty something real pretty because she allowed him back into this week's contest with another snappy 'ku:

Blind Daze

Sleet needled morn, he
crouches low amid the reeds-
to outwit a duck.

Sleet needled morn . . . damn. Wish I'd written that.

And then Buzz, whose play is intermittent but when he's able, he's spot on.

Left on desk - I'm sure.
Plan and place for everything.
Gone . . . damn you woman!

And the winner be: neck and neck between Troll and Buzz with Buzz edging Troll out by a hair. Simply because, well, I can so relate. And, I'm sorry. All women are like this, really, and I have no idea why. Blame it on our genetics. While you all were out thumping meat over the head, we were back at camp making things . . . orderly. Because we were bored out of our Cro Magnon skulls. We've come a long way since then, baby, but not long enough to divest ourselves entirely of this particular piece of our DNA. Deal.

So, Buzz, looks like it's your turn to host, judge, and perhaps even offer up a fabuloso prize. Can't wait.

Haiku Mondays: HUNTER/HUNTED

Blondie's last album
like all late stage art devolved:
Baroque blows of chunks.

* * *

When we last left Haiku Monday two weeks ago, we found Troll in a bit of a conundrum about the winner, with things finally shaking out in favor of Aunty's husband, Uncle, and his gleefully naughty hit and run homage to Snow White and her "seven" dwarfs. We took a week's break out of respect for Miss Kym's impending delivery of baby Caleb and Haiku regular Miss Pam's impending status of grandmother to future OSU football star.

So now we're back on track with Uncle's choice of topic for this week—Hunter or Hunted—and I am hosting/judging.

Take aim, give us your best 5-7-5, post it here, and I'll pick the winner sometime on Tuesday. The prize? The fact that your record collection most likely DOES NOT contain this album.

But Blondie's new one, Panic of Girls, is majorly worth checking out. As is the video for the first single, "Mother," which features zombies, retro 80s dance beat/synth riffs filtered through a Zero-ish sensibility (RIP Jimmy Destri, yay Clem Burke), and a thigh-high patent leather booted Debbie Harry looking at least half of her 66 years of age. Dang; what IS she drinking?

Okay, Haikuers . . . Go!

Be Pretty

Tell Moi: What are your top 3-5 choices for prettiest pop songs ever written?

Party Like It's 2011

Our Lady of the Perpetual Revolution and Glossy Good Hair

* * *

EVERYTHING I NEED TO KNOW IN LIFE
I LEARNED FROM BLOG SUMMIT 2011

1. The following fashion accessories are de rigueur for desert travel: Frederic Fekkai's hair gloss, loose a-line cut garments in linen, cotton jersey, or nylon, Cole Haan Chukkas, and Evian face spritz. Oh, and aviator sunglasses. The Blogettes have deemed it so: Jackie O frames are so no-no.

2. One's home turf always looks way more interesting through the observations of others, whether they're ooh-ing, ahh-ing, or WTF?-ing.

3. If you need it to rain, just call Boxer. I think she carries the stuff with her at all times. She also brings a LOT of sunshine. She be complex like that.

4. There are few things in life more wonderful than people who don't edit their laughter, their opinions, or their ability to break out in spontaneous dance without seeming at all hippie-ish.

5. Life's too short to say no to ice cream.

6. We have some rockin'-ass husbands, to think there is nothing weird at all about a bunch a gals who met online getting together to travel and have adventures.

7. One of the prettiest openings of any ballad in existence is Bad Company's "Silver, Blue, and Gold." Go ahead, play it. I'll wait.

8. Grey Goose martinis served in a glass the size of a small tug boat are supposed to be cut with water and ice. Oopsie, sorry, Boxer. Then again, you didn't look any worse for wear the next day. But then again, again, I guess that's what aviators are for.

Our Lady of the Perpetual Martini and Lovely Smile

9. A "Deer and a Beer" is now a permanent part of my and S.B.'s happy hour lexicon.

10. We'll do this again, you betcha.

A Behind is a Terrible Thing to Waste

Wow, That Was Awkward

Chickory spotted her first. Didn't even have to say anything. Just let out a snort of derision and directed her eyeballs. We were stunned. But not so much that we didn't whip out our cameras toot suite.

Ladies, for all our anger at the utterly unfair bitch slap that is the aging process, for all that we are ready, willing, and able to do to keep that process at bay . . . at least we won't do THAT.

The Blog Summit Commeth

The former mining/ghost town of Madrid, New Mexico, one of the places I'll be taking the Bloggettes this weekend.

* * *

By this time tomorrow, I'll be getting ready to pick Boxer and Chickory up at Albuquerque's International Sunport (don't ask me why it's called that, it just is) to cart them up along I-40 to the backside of the Sandia Mountains. Thus will begin Day One of Blog Summit Nuevo Mexico 2011.

There will be tequila, Grey Goose, food, cake, dogs, guns, one wryly amused husband (who, thankfully, is also a gamer), heat, guns, adventure, and feathers. If your ears burn, that's a good thing. It means we're talking about you. But that's only because we like you and wish you were here, too.

Adios for now, Party People.

Haiku Mondays: SEVEN

Emmi Whitehorse, Silent Warbler, #1428, oil on canvas, 2007

* * *

Synesthesia

Senses intertwine.
Symbols marry mood and hue:
Seven's brash yellow.

* * *

Ms. Kym was our illustrious winner last week, however, due to the fact that she is about to give birth any second now, Señor Troll is hosting this time around. So head over to his Stroll to participate.

Okay, I Like This